The long evening with its strident call
harries me
the night became a bed in which to carry me
as I become the setting of a settling sun
stripping down
toning up
I drink a cup of kindness
for auld lang

When the doorbell rang I was almost asleep,
eighty seven sheep at the last count.
I answered dreamily as the candle flame wavered
wearily towards its end

Friend or foe?

You never know
who calls at the mid of night.

The morning slept as late as I
and so I rose with the rising of
a red faced sun.

Who knows
why
the crimson in the sky that makes the
day blush
makes me rush

guilty conscience?